Stories
by Steve Zissou
Summary: We don't write stories like that So it begins, a story is told that wasn't supposed to happen. It came together nicely in the end, yes, but really logic was lost and events fell in place in a most peculiar way. Chapter 4 up. Reviews Wanted.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I have absolutely no clue where this is going. All I know, is that it so far pleases me greatly. I hope this much will keep you interested as I come up with what exactly I'm writing in the meantime. Enjoy.

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"_We don't write stories like that."_

**tick tock tick tock tick**

Are you sure you want to hear this? The last one who heard this said the same. They had eagerly nodded and wiped their brow where a bead of sweat had collected. They were nervous to hear the very fine details, but enthralled with what they assumed the particulars would be.

You have said yes to this question thrice, and so I will relieve you of your anticipation. I will tell you a story that wasn't supposed to _be_.

In the beginning, there was a light and it had gone out from her eyes. Mud brown eyes were clouded over so quickly that she hadn't a chance to memorize every detail of her world she would soon sorely miss.

"_Aeturnus Caecus_," she heard, then she blinked, then everything was very dark.

When everything was dark and the light ceased to be, she felt her heart break. You and I both know, when we close our eyes we will open them soon enough and be allowed the gift of sight. She blinked very hard for nearly five minutes straight and she knew her gift was gone. Her gift.. was stolen. Gone were the days when she could spot red above all else and say "Oh _there_ he is, I have found him." Gone were the days of longing gazes filled with a stretch of blue, endless and vast and freckled with puffs of clouds. Gone, gone, gone.

Her heart broke because of this sudden knowledge.

"R-ron...?" She swallowed very hard after her meek call, and pushed more of her voice forward into the darkness. "Ron? RONALD?"

Scuffling feet, echoes of battle, and the buzz and hum of magic in the air filled her ears. Filled her ears so much that she barely heard him when he stumbled down beside her.

"Ginny! Oh god, what is it, what... Ginny look at me!"

But she honestly thought she was looking at him. She couldn't help it... so many screams and so many cries of anguish. Whose though? Her fellow soldiers, or those of the opposition? From where did they come? Her head turned right, her head turned left.

"Ronald! Where are you... I can't..."

"GINNY LOOK AT ME!"

"I CAN'T!"

And all at once, she accepted the darkness as one does when they are so weary. She closed her eyes, fell forward into arms she could only feel, and let her self fall into a world of color she could only just remember. Color she would soon forget, and images she'd never see again.

"_We don't write stories like that. Well... maybe we do. But they aren't stories that just pop into our heads one day. They are stories that stem from real events, stories that though rare in life.. happened once enough for them to become immortal."_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I suppose I have some wish that this turns out D/G. Or else.. it'd be listed only under Ginny. Still not sure where it is going, and thank you for my one review, **weblinggirl05 **. Glad someone likes it. For all of you kids reading this and not reviewing... hope you change your mind eventually and give me feedback. Reviews are much love. Oh yes, and just to say.. these italicised quotes are just things I'm making up. Not real quotes or anything.

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"_These things never happen without good reason in the end to balance the illogic of the beginning."_

I have barely scratched the surface of this tale. I'm sure you know this, your expression is clear when it comes to your true interest in what occurs next. While the dilemma had been truthfully, a momentarily frightening thing, you can not possibly understand the fear that overtook her. You, my dear, are staring at me with so much light in your eyes... and _she_.. she could be staring into the sun and never know it save for the sudden heat on her face.

When she had given into the darkness, and slept for days upon days, her dreams were at first as vivid as ever. They were filled with bright red hair and strawberry freckles. Twin grins of mischief afoot, flesh tattooed with ancient symbols and strong arms ready to protect her from monsters with pale aristocratic features and dark eyes of hatred. For days she jumped from dream to dream and everyday the dreams became more muted... more desolate.. completely without colors and filled with mere blurs for images.

When she woke up a week and half later, she couldn't remember the faces of her family. For you see.. when we close our eyes, we are lucky to have memories. They allow us to remember who is who and what is what when our eyes open again. She could barely understand it, why would her memories forsake her so quickly? Why couldn't she recall them though her eyes would not work properly?

"It is the nature of the curse," recalled a voice to her left. The voice was soft, soothing and wise. It was beyond it's years and slight inflections upon various words allowed the voice an identity.

"Did you hear the curse, Miss Granger? Were you near her when it happened?" inquired another voice, deeper tones rich with a life well spent. A man of many years and many things to say.

"No, Professor. I had found her with Ron, long after the battle ended. I haven't seen Ginny until... today."

Her name was Ginny. Until that word was uttered, she hadn't given it a single thought. It had slipped her mind that she even had a name. For a moment, she wondered if that too was the nature of the curse.

"I don't think so, it's shock Gin. Just shock."

"You heard me." The first words she expressed, she hadn't even recalled saying yet apparently they left her lips loud enough for Hermione to answer her question. These other words, this soft statement, sounded foreign to even her ears. There was something odd about hearing her own voice which felt raw and new. How long had it been, that her voice felt so untried.

There was the faint feel of something soft and cool on her brow and slowly Ginny had lifted her hand to feel what it was. Her fingers felt so thick and heavy, desperately she tried to figure out what it was on her brow but she couldn't find any images left in her mind to compare it to. All she could tell was that it was something cold, something soft and something placing pressure on her brow. Defeated, Ginny dropped her hand to her side.

"What is that?" she had asked.

"My hand, popkin, my hand..." this voice was new. It rang in her ears for quite sometime with a certain something lacing every word. A certain something that was sweet and so perfect, it brought wet trails from Ginny's clouded eyes across her pale cheeks.

"Mummy, I can't see.."

"Oh.. oh.."

"Mummy I can't _remember..."_

Ginny couldn't bare to close her eyes. She kept them wide and open afraid that it would only get darker if she let them shut.


	3. Chapter 3

"_See to it that you remember, not all the heroes were heroes from the start."_

Beloved, I have told you of her: Ginny. I have not yet mentioned _him_. I must tell you that my reasoning was simple: you wouldn't want to know a thing about him had you heard how _he_ began. I'm afraid this story would have ended ages ago if he was the first mentioned. He is not as a Hero ought to be, not humble nor caring in his nature and he was certainly never selfless in his acts.

In the beginning, for him, it was very cold. It had always been this way, long before his beginning when it was his Father's beginning it was cold then too. Some have said it was a wrong doing ages past that made his family that way. Malfoy: their faith was corrupt and placed in flawed systems of society, as well as the shadier arts of magic.

You shudder at the name's past, and you are not alone in this sudden feeling of detestation . Theirs is a history filled with such hate and sadly, it took a hold of their children at such a young age. He was only five when he saw a man's innards paint a wall red. He was nine when his Father had beaten him black and blue for shedding a tear past seven years old. He was eleven when the very core of him froze in this tradition of hatred and corruption.

"Draco."

He was to grow to in the image of his father, as any proper heir would do. He was to be as strong in his bad faith as the Elder Malfoy, holding firm to the beliefs that were crumbling all around him. His Father had failed in raising a true Malfoy, and succeeded in bringing up a man completely selfish and uncouth.

"Draco...?"

His mind was one filled with so many horrid thoughts. **Guilt**, he had seen the blood of innocents before he was even a man. **Anger**, how could somebody supposedly impure be better at everything? **Pride**, surely he was better than the rest, his wealth.. his good genes, his pure breeding. **Lust**, for power was something his Father told him to ache for, to kill for.

"Are you listening? He... he died last night. In the battle."

"Good," he turned his eyes up to the face of his Mother and watched her expressions melt into one another. He saw the same guilt, anger and pride... but she lacked lust. It was replaced with something foreign to him, something he was never allowed to see or feel: sorrow.

He supposed she wanted to say something to him along the lines of, 'How could you say such a thing?' or maybe even, 'Don't you dare utter that about your Father!'. She didn't though. She lifted her mask over those expressions and let her response seem natural.

"Remember what we are to say." She left him then, so that he might recall what it was he was to give as the lie. Cursed, she and him, to do the things they did, and no they would never think of really joining He-Who-must-Not-Be-Named. Cursed... that was it..

He returned to home the following day, and all the house elves called him "Master." He was no longer "Young Sir" His rank was heightened.


	4. Chapter 4

"_Do you see the stars? Even they can never match the brightness of true love."_

There is something about magic, dearest star, something about it that renders it mysterious to even the most wise of wizards. You have felt it, the moment you first felt unexplainable pain and as your heart broke, so did a window at your side. This is true of most unmanageable emotion you feel, the magic jumps and dances beyond your control. This was true for _them_. Their magic mixed and mingled in ways that they didn't think possible. Their love flared and neither saw it coming, she especially.

Their love was not from the beginning. Theirs was a beginning that most lovers deny ever happening. Hatred without understanding, anger and jealousy overtook their eyes when they first met. He would see her standing tall and proud in robes two sizes to big and worn out at the elbows. He would see her with her chin up and eyes strong with assurance so real.. and he had to fake that everyday of his life. It angered him in ways he never thought possible.

She would see him, all scowls and taunts and words that sparked her temper, what else could she first feel other than hate? She could never say she knew him well, but she could say she knew who he claimed to be. He claimed perfection, superiority, and wealth she could never obtain. It infuriated her in ways she never thought possible.

Beloved, they can not deny this. Even I was eye witness to their beginning.

His heart was cold for years, as I told you.. it had been this way for as far back as he could remember. If there was a way to heat his heart, he wouldn't have cared really. He would say, "I like how everything is, what more is there anyways?"

He would know there was more if he was ever allowed to feel simple emotions from his childhood. If he new of true sorrow of loss, he'd know happiness could never come from money and power. If he knew true love of a Mother and Father, he'd have shed tears at his Father's funeral. He'd have tried to stop his Mother from her self inflicted death, because he'd have seen it coming. Unfortunately, he never knew any of those things and when it was introduced to him, it was too late to go back and change the past.

When he came to know those things, they were so foreign to him he hadn't the faintest idea of how to respond. It was awkward, and completely caught him off guard.

She had found there were many levels to the curse upon her eyes. There was the fact that she no longer recalled what anyone looked like, and she couldn't even remember how blue looked in the sky. She lost those memories and that ability for good and so, she accepted it. However, the magic of the curse took the magic of sight.. and her very core fought to replenish what was lost in other ways.

You see, there are many who have magic very strong in their eyes and they can read magic weaving futures in other's hands, in crystal balls and in the residue of tea leaves. There are very few who have occasional flares of magical hearing and we are given prophecies others might see written in the stars. These are not common, but of that magic called divination, they are the core ways of reading what magic tells us.

When her magic was stolen from her eyes, her core sent all it could to another sense to do what her eyes couldn't. She noticed it three days after being awake in the darkness, a faint music playing in her ears.

"Ron, what is that music playing? Can you turn it off?"

She jerked her head to the left as she felt the jump of another body beside her. Sleepily, words escaped his lips as he comprehended her questions.

"Music? What music, Gin?"

There was a silence for him, and she had shut her lips tight as the music she heard got louder.. and louder..

"What did she say, Ron?" She asked softly.

"What are you talking about? What did who say?" Now he was awake and curiously watching his sister as she stared up blankly at the ceiling.

"Hermione. Did she say yes?" The music was not at all horrible. In fact, she rather liked it. There was the perfect blend of sweet tones brought out by violins and a faint background of piano. Then there was a moment where the piano and violin struck a chord that rang through her body and had felt compelled to ask the question about Hermione.

"I haven't asked yet..." spoke Ron softly, feeling his throat was rather tight suddenly.

"Ask tonight, okay?" She didn't ask him about the music again and by the time he was questioning her she was feeling so exhausted she had simply fallen asleep.

The next day, she was told by Hermione of her engagement to Ron. He had asked her the night before and it was funny, she said. "I was tired of waiting, Gin. I told my self... 'Unless he asks tonight, I'm through.' Then...he did."

This was how she saw things. She could tell when Ron was frustrated when she heard his music in an odd key. She knew Harry was feeling anxious, she could tell the party was going well and she could hear her brothers' love without them having to say a word. This was how she saw _him_, though their beginning was quite filled with hate.. all she could hear was far from hatred.

"Draco Malfoy." She had said it with such certainty and he wondered how. She was blind, right? He read about it a while back in the Daily Prophet. He observed her eyes with a quick glance and found them to look quite clouded. She was looking over his shoulder.

"Weasel," he murmured in return. He felt a great deal of frustration bubbling up suddenly from her presence. All he could remember is seeing her standing this proud during school. She had lost her sight and still she was confident as ever. He didn't think he could ever do that if he lost his sight.

Then it came, the awkwardness, the being caught off guard, the mystery of the magic working in that moment.

"Don't worry, I'll love you even if you can't fix them," she whispered urgently. There was a great crescendo to that moment and suddenly.. nothing. No music at all for a full two seconds as he took in her words and she let them all out.

He gulped, very hard. "Fix.. what then?" he managed to ask. She was already gathering the packages in her arm and just as she was about to answer, another voice broke through.

"Ginny! You were right behind me then..." The voice faltered when the owner caught sight of Draco, who was looking quite winded.

Hermione Granger glared, and grabbed Ginny's free hand to drag her away without another word or the acknowledgement of Draco's existence.

"My eyes," she whispered to him as she was dragged away. The music faded from her ears and her cheeks burned bright pink. Hermione figured it was the cold and Ginny never told her it was because she heard love playing in her ears. Draco was so anxious in the next hour, he spilled his coffee four times. He was a nervous wreck and he couldn't even give it all a proper explanation.


End file.
